Blood of the North
by Beytran70
Summary: An epic tale of Beytran Baast, last living heir to the throne of Lordaeron, as he leads his companions and followers through many trials and tribulations on the quest to reclaim their homeland. Contains some original characters as well as many classics and favorites from Warcraft lore. Rated M for sexual references, intense violence, and language. Rated A for AWESOME!
1. Prologue

Orgrimmar, capital city of the Horde. Hellscream's Horde. A city fortified to the point that many within would deem impregnable, but it did not stop others from trying, of course. The true Horde, rebellious, and the Alliance both sought to siege it from without, and as such it's guardians were on high alert constantly. Orcish voices barked orders day in and day out. What some would call training, I simply called whipping your men into a mindless frenzy prior to battle. Or so it seemed.

That's where I found myself before it all happened, you see. I had been a prisoner for a month or so, caught in the Barrens of Kalimdor along with several of my lieutenants during a scouting mission for the Alliance. It was a sloppy mistake that did it, but I shan't bore you with the details of my failure so soon. It was myself, my close friend and second hand man, Brunwal, the High Elven twins Asylillia and Alaram Azurecrest, and a wizened Priest, Father Oloric Bandon.

Our jailor was a very pleasant Orc named Durkha, who spent a majority of his time guarding us from a little corner in the dungeon where he read steamy romance novels, and frequently saw to pleasuring himself while we were awake. I shan't go into much detail about that, either. We five were kept in the same cell, but separated in cages. Myself and Brunwal were kept together, Asylillia and Oloric together, and Alaram in a specially built cage to negate his magical abilities.

After a time, though, we picked up on the rumors. The siege would being in no less than a few days time, and so, we thought, it was time to leave. Being caught in a city under siege was not on our schedule, you see. Brunwal and I recalled a tactic from a favorite book of ours by Jasper Crowen, "The Lady's Lad," which really is a classic I hope you read some time, but further to the point...

Brunwal sat himself down in the corner of the cage one day, starting in the morning, and by the night Durkha was obviously concerned, or at least, was as concerned as an Orc whose livelihood is jeopardized by a dead prisoner could be. I, the biggest of the two, took up the role of a bully.

"Oi, you lazy sod, come on! You're lazy and fat, and I don't like your face! NEVER HAVE!" I bellowed, to which Brunwal raised and offered his fists to me. We began to grapple instantly, to which our Orcish warden immediately took notice. He grabbed his axe and lurched in, forcing open the cage and moving to break us up. Brunwal dodged the warning swing of the axe, causing the Orc to stumble. I deftly grabbed his arm and with a swift maneuver, there was a snap, and a howl of pain, which lasted mere moments before it was silenced by another snap, this time the Orc's neck.

"Handy work, Brunwal." I said, collecting myself, and giving the man a rewarding pat on the shoulder. I grabbed the axe from the corpse and quickly hacked open the cage with Asylillia and Oloric in it, while Brunwal took the Orc's key to unlock Alaram's cage.

"We cannot linger here, milord, someone ought to have heard that yell." Asylillia said quickly, moving to grab a spear from a nearby weapon's rack. I followed suit, and grabbed myself a broadsword, obviously spoils from some unlucky prisoner before me.

"You have a point, Asy, and so we must go. From what I've heard, we must be in a dungeon near the sewers. Lucky for us." I smirked, heading out the cramped prison, friends in tow.

"Lucky? Only in your mind, sir." Alaram groaned. I prepared a reply, before we were met with a two-Orc patrol. They weren't exactly expecting us, but we were expecting them. By the time they had raised their weapons, ours were implanted in their corpses.

"Lucky, no. Divine providence, I think, at this point." Father Bandon intoned after we slew and removed the Orc guards.

"Luck or fate, it doesn't matter, we still need to hurry. The more bodies we leave the less time it'll take for someone to figure out we're gone." Asylillia said, checking around a corner before waving us onward. We were met with the oppressive smell of Orc waste and other ungodly sewages coming from a pipe in the ground. The Elves wrinkled their noses in disgust, and even Oloric winced as he whiffed it.

"Our exit, companions." Brunwal chuckled, waving a hand forward to me. "As you will, fearless leader."

"By all means, young men fi-" I prepared to say, before I was interrupted by the swift push of the Elven Ranger Asylillia, pushing me into the pipe and directly into the filth. Were I in actual clothes and not prisoner's rags, I'd have had stern words with her, but alas. The sewage pipe led us directly into the sea, fortunately, and we were able to make our escape to the Southfury River, and back to the Barrens to our comrades.

When we arrived at the bustling camp, we were greeted enthusiastically. I feigned exhaustion and went directly to the command tent, plopping myself down at the main table to look over the updated maps. The siege, it seemed, would be a success. Any proper tactician could see it at this point. I exhaled a sigh of relief and leaned back in my chair to think. I did not notice right away when my tent flap opened.

"What is our move, milord?" The voice of a familiar Priest said with it's usual calm. I glanced up to see him in his normal blue and gold robes, and hair not filled with detritus.

"As I see it, Oloric, we are no longer needed here. As I see it, Oloric, the time may yet be nigh." I said, staring at the old bearded face I knew so well. He smiled.

"As you see it, milord? Your eyesight is not the best. What do you _feel_ is the right course?" He spoke with a sly smirk only a Priest could muster.

I replied after a sigh, and a pause, as I thought to myself. "Yes. It is time. Rally the men, we leave at first light." I nodded, to which he bowed. Oloric exited the camp, and after a few moments I heard the booming voice of Brunwal over the camp.

"Lads n' lasses, we're headin' out! Back to the Eastern Kingdoms!" He barked, and a few seconds passed before he spoke again, obviously in response to a question on many minds. "Don't you worry about why we're goin', you'll find out soon enough!"

I rose and exited the tent, looking down from my little hill to the camp. All the eyes turned upon me in an instant. Almost eight hundred strong, my loyal followers. My friends. Over the past decade we had lived and died together as one, but the time had come for us to return to our home. The time had come, for us to retake what was ours.

"Blood of Lordaeron, of Stromgarde, of the Alliance... We return now to the Eastern Kingdoms. Our time has come, brothers and sisters. We shall RETAKE what is rightfully ours!" I had scarcely ended my second sentence before a chorus of cheers and hurrahs broke the silence of the night.

"Praise be to the Light! Glory of Lordaeron! Honor of the Alliance! Hail, our Lord, the King: Beytran Baast!" One of the captains shouted as he pointed to me as Oloric came up from behind, clothing me in my tabard: The blue gryphon of Lordaeron on a bleach white backing.

That, my friends, is where it all began.


	2. Ch 1: Brothers in the South

It was a fine day in the kingdom of Stormwind. The sun was bright, the wind was blowing ever so softly from the sea, and the sky was a picturesque blue dotted with a few sheep-like clouds. The citizens of the nation went about their daily lives with joy, the many people of Stormwind City flocking to the streets to chat, shop, drink, etc. A topic of particularly interested discussion was a rumor coming in from Goldshire. A large encampment of soldiers filled with Dwarves, Men, and Elves had established itself in the fields east of the town, its banners and soldiers bearing symbols of Lordaeron.

"Do ya suppose they're some kind of Argent group?" Many people proposed, to which their fellows could not help but shrug. Others did, of course, know better.

"If they were Argents they would be in the Plaguelands, I'm sure. Why come all the way down here?" One soldier noted with confidence. Whoever they were, there were quite a few of them. The most solid estimate that floated around was a little under a thousand men, most of them Human. The only one that didn't receive the rumor immediately however, was...

"Varian! By the Light, don't hurt the boy too bad!" Genn Greymane shouted from the shade of a tree as he watched King Varian Wrynn spar with his son, the Prince, Anduin Wrynn.

"Oh relax, Greymane! You can take it, can't you son?" Varian chuckled as he dodged a swift strike from his son's wooden sword.

"You bet I can! For the Light!" Anduin shouted as he kept on the attack. Varian deftly avoided and parried each strike, until tripping over a large stick and falling on his ass. Anduin took advantage and quickly leapt onto his father, pinning him with his blade. "Aha! Yield!" The boy prince said, grinning.

Varian let out a chuckle and laid his practice sword down in a yield, before patting his son on the head. "You'll make a fine Paladin someday, Anduin, your mother would be proud." He said, standing up as he headed over to their table, where lunch had been prepared.

Thunderous hooves stormed through the gates of Stormwind as an armed and armored messenger named Danric, followed by two similarly armed and armored guards, rode to the palace under orders. Orders from their lord, Beytran Baast. Their tabards had been cleaned, to match the shine of their steel chainmail and swords. The messenger himself bore a satchel, filled to the brim with documents, and held an ornate wooden chest close to himself as he rode. The trio gained much attention from the crowds they passed, and even the staunch royal guard of the palace took notice.

Danric and his protectors dismounted their horses immediately upon reaching the door to the keep, storming up the steps and reaching the way barred by the keep's watchers.

"Who goes there? Be you a friend or foe to Stormwind and the Alliance, and by whose order do you go?" The gatemaster asked, crossing his arms as he looked over the three men curiously.

"I am Danric Harrowburg, Royal Servant of Lordaeron, and I bare many messages for your king, Varian." The messenger replied, nodding once for emphasis.

"Of Lordaeron? Are you daft, man? Lordaeron hasn't existed for over a decade!" The guard said, disbelief clouding him, although the brightness of Danric's tabard shone through some of the cloud.

"Lordaeron only dies when people cease to fight for it. That day is not today. Now in the name of my lord Beytran Baast, let us through at once!"

"Now wait just- did you say Beytran? Beytran Baast?" The guard captain said, visibly perking up at mention of the name. "If what you say is true, you will tell me at once!" He barked.

"Aye, it is true. The Lord General is our lord. Long have we been in exile, but now we return, and I bare messages for your king!" Danric said, advancing forward, not apt to wait. Nor wait he did, as the gates were opened by the captain's command that instant.

"I knew Lord Baast, for a time. I was part of the legion from Stormwind that went with Lothar to Lordaeron after the city was first destroyed. When we finally returned to reclaim and retake the city, I joined up with his unit. He's a great leader, a good man, and one of the reasons I still have a home today." The captain spoke, leading Danric and his guards through the palace himself.

"That certainly sounds like him. I myself only knew him briefly before the Third War. I frequently transported intelligence to and from him to King Menethil. After the war, well, I had nowhere else to go. His cause was just, righteous, and his is the kind of voice you cannot just ignore." Danric said, musing there at the end as he remembered the early days with a mix of sorrow and joy.

"Aye, well I wish you luck. King Varian and the Prince are out there, sparring I believe. Speak well." The captain said, before returning to his duties. Danric inhaled and exhaled deeply, stepping outside into the large garden field, following the tell-tale sounds of sparring going on. He and his two men walked through the mazelike palace garden for what seemed like an hour before they came across a sunny opening where the massive armored King Varian stood, demonstrating proper parrying technique to his son.

"Five, six, seven, good work, Anduin, you've almost become an expert at hitting a piece of wood!" Varian chuckled, moving over to ruffle his son's hair. He did not notice the men advancing from behind him.

"For Lordaeron!" Anduin exclaimed, smiling half incredulous as he saw the three approach. He hadn't seen a symbol of Lordaeron for some time, let alone tabards. Varian quickly turned in surprise as his son spoke, and did a double-take of his sight.

"Greetings Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, and Anduin Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind." Danric bowed in greeting, his guards following suit. "I come with tidings on this fine day."

"Tidings? Of what? From whom?" Varian asked with apprehension. He tossed his practice sword aside and walked to the men, his son following behind curiously.

"From the rightful King of Lordaeron." Danric replied with a proud smile as he drew a small bound scroll from his satchel, handing it to Varian. The King opened the scroll quickly, unsure what to make of this.

"In response to Arthas's recent actions, and the state of the kingdom now, I move to place the Order of Heroes into effect. Any man who owns a significant portion of land in Lordaeron, is possessed of a title granted by royalty, and also serves in an officer's position in the army shall henceforth be granted the right to regency and in the most dire need, the rightful position as King. Furthermore, I declare my cousin, Lord General Beytran Baast, as my direct successor should Arthas not be reinstated.

Dark times are ahead of us, brothers and sisters. I only pray we shall come out of them whole and good.

Signed,

Terenas Menethil II."

Varian stared at the paper for almost a full minute, including the signature and mark of the man he knew so well in his youth. After the time passed, Varian looked to Danric.

"What does this mean? Unless you mean to tell me you fall under this "Order of Heroes" the paper means nothing. Beytran Baast is long dea-" Varian stammered as the figure caught his eye through the gaps between Danric and his soldiers.

"Not quite as dead as some would like to believe, Varian." The eloquent voice of the Lord General said. Clad in shining mithril chain, his ever-present tabard, a long cape, and a massive longsword bearing the symbol of Lordaeron, Beytran stood now in front of Varian confidently, and with a two inch height advantage. Even though his hair was greyed, his face showed the vigors of youth as well as the experiences of age.

"It cannot be. Beytran, is it truly you?" Varian stood in awe. Anduin mimicked his father's expression, though he had only scarcely heard of the man in front of him.

"Truly it is, my friend. I have been gone a long time, or rather, I haven't been myself for a long time." Beytran spoke after a length of time. Danric simply remained quiet, not having been expecting his Lord to arrive personally.

"Where have you been? And is this proclamation from Terenas real?" Varian asked, still a bit cautious as to all these revelations.

"Here and there, Varian. I have been very active in my death. Most recently I was aiding your forces in the Barrens to prepare for the Siege of Orgrimmar. Congratulations, by the way." Beytran said with a smile.

" "How did you know we won? Nobody knows that yet." Varian said again, even more cautious. Beytran merely chuckled.

"You forget, Varian, knowing things is part of my job. If you had lost the battle you wouldn't be here, regardless." The Lord General replied. "And yes, the document is real. It was sent to me, and many others in the upper echelons of Lordaeronian society not long after the culling of Stratholme."

"But that doesn't explain why you're here now." Varian said, as he waved Beytran to follow him. They walked, Varian, Anduin, and Beytran, throughout the keep and into a council room. Varian and Anduin sat on one end of the table, while Beytran stood, leaning over onto the other side and staring directly at the two.

"War is coming to the North, Varian. I am taking it there." The General said, almost unfettered by the implications of what he just said. Anduin let out a slight gasp, but Varian sat unperturbed.

"And am I to understand it, Beytran, that you want my help?" Varian asked, deep in thought. Beytran offered a slight nod.

"That is so, Varian. Not only yours, but from others in the Alliance. I intend to speak with Muradin and the Council in Ironforge as well. Before you jump to deny it on obvious grounds, allow me to explain it to you..." Beytran said, now moving to pace back and forth.

"When the Alliance was at the height of it's power long ago, it was because of a union of great kingdoms. Lordaeron, Azeroth, Kul'tiras, Gilneas, Stromgarde, Alterac, Dalaran, all this you know. Times have changed, and now the Alliance contains only a few of those nations, plus many of other races. We have the upper hand now, yes, and peace may yet be on it's way with the Horde, but imagine Varian, what strength we could muster if we were possessed of the lands rightfully ours. I imagine the Blood Elves, who I know have approached you before in hopes of beginning to leave the Horde, would feel much safer about doing so if all the Eastern Kingdoms belonged to the Alliance. And, of course, if I receive needed aid from the Alliance during this critical period of rebirth for Lordaeron, I shall remember who gave it. And who did not." Beytran finished, offering a quick glance to Varian, before turning to face him again.

At this, a new man accompanied by several armored juggernauts of men, bearing tabards of the Sons of Lothar, entered the room. This new man immediately stopped at stared at Beytran.

"Baast? General Baast?" He said, incredulous.

"Danath Trollbane. You're just in time. Do you feel it, gentlemen?" Beytran asked, looking around the entire room. "The winds of fate. I leave you to your discussions, for I know what it is to be said. Danath. We need to have a chat later about old times, and future times." The Lord General said, and left with a bow.


	3. Ch 2: The Halls of Ironforge

"Do you think there is any hope for what Lord Baast says, Ala? About our people rejoining the Alliance if all goes well?" The Elven Ranger Asylillia asked, wistfully gazing out of her and her brother's tent at the moon. Alaram stirred slightly from his reading and looked to her.

"I can't say. We only know what we know of our people now through rumors. They could all be very different, now. All we can do is hope that the Regent Lord is a wise man, and that he will see the right way of things in the future." Alaram said, nodding to his sister, before returning to read. "If not, then at least we will have our new home in Lordaeron, with our friends." He added. Asylillia nodded and sighed, closing the tent flap before stripping down and laying down on her cot.

"You're right of course." She said.

"Mages usually are." He replied with a smirk.

In the command tent sat the Lord General alone in his council of one, staring down at the map of Lordaeron on the table that he had spent a good portion of the past ten years with. Every bit of it was marked and noted by himself, every territory a piece of his grand design, and it all started soon.

"Soon." Beytran mused to himself, mulling over the previous days' events. Varian had not given a solid answer to him, but did to Danath, and Danath still needed time to think on his own answer. It did not matter to Beytran, for he knew the old warrior's reply would be a yes. It was fitting, he thought. Old Arathor started in the highlands of Arathi, and Stromgarde, why not let the new Human empire start there as well?

His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Brunwal, who was the only one still in the camp with his full plate armor on. He slouched down into a chair on the other side of the table, and swung back a mug of ale.

"What news?" Beytran asked, still looking down at the map.

"Danric returned from Ironforge, and the trip was a success. The Council will receive you in two days." Brunwal said, taking another drink, over eagerly spilling some of the golden ale onto his beard. He grumbled and wiped at it with his bracers. "Still think Trollbane will come around?"

"I have no doubt, he is an old friend, and even if he wasn't he is no fool. Alone our armies are nothing impressive, but together we can easily free his kingdom and garner the support we need. Fresh supplies can roll into the North through Stromgarde and we will have a bastion from which to strike further, into Lordaeron." Beytran said, drawing his fingers across the lines of the map as he spoke. It was a bad habit of his.

"If you say so." Brunwal shrugged, and sighed. "You're right, though. I've learned to trust your brain." Brunwal added, getting up with a stretch as he left the tent. "Just keep your damn sword arm away from me, Beytran!" He chuckled.

"Oh get out of here you old coot. Tell the men to make ready to leave in the morning!" Beytran smirked, and leaned back. "Soon." He reminded himself.

It was a sight to see, a good fifteen hundred men and women, soldiers of Lordaeron, joined by their several hundred companions from the Sons of Lothar, crammed into the Deeprun Tram to take the journey to Ironforge. They were further bolstered by volunteers from Stormwind. Danath had of course come around, as Beytran predicted.

"So you intend to talk with the Dwarves, as well?" Danath asked Beytran as they got on their own tram, and bolted forward to Ironforge. Beytran's ponytail flew backward wildly in the wind like a crackle of white, or grey, lightning.

"Aye. Our jobs are not going to be easy, and even if they don't agree to send troops, we will need their supplies." Beytran replied, one hand resting on his sword as they passed underneath the sea. He swore he caught a glimpse of a giant threshadon sea monster, but he put the notion out of his mind.

"I suppose I should tell you while I have you early, what we're up against first. My kingdom has been torn apart, split three ways. The bastard Alterac nobles, and nobles from other fallen kingdoms banded together into a coalition of thieves and murderers called the Syndicate. They control most of Stromgarde itself, and I hear most of Alterac. The Boulderfist Ogres have grown greatly as well, and control most of the hills and mountains of Arathi, and a good portion of the city. Then there's the Horde, who have a small holding in the northeast." Danath explained to Beytran's attentive ears.

"What do we have?" Beytran responded.

"No more than two hundred men remain of the military of Stromgarde, and have held out from a small section of the city and a large gorge where their camp lies, near the Arathi Basin. I'm sure our arrival will be a great relief." Danath said, crossing his arms as they neared Ironforge.

Beytran nodded, then looked to his comrade. "Are you going to be ready for this, Trollbane? You've spent the last few decades holed up in Outland, most of it fighting demons. Here you'll be facing savage Orcs, Ogres, and criminals."

"Oh I'll be ready. I've been ready since the day that portal reopened and I heard firsthand what had befallen my homeland. I will not rest until all of Arathi is in the hands of it's people once more." Danath said sternly, looking to Beytran directly. "Are we not one in this, Beytran? Surely you feel the same way of Lordaeron."

"Oh yes, we are one. I wish for nothing more than to see the splendour of my kingdom renewed. I'm afraid though, my friend, the situation in Lordaeron is far more complicated than in Stromgarde." He sighed, lurching forward a bit as their tram reached the Ironforge end. He disembarked and clasped Danath on the shoulder as they entered the city. "I'll meet you in Loch Modan tonight, and tomorrow morning we shall ride." He said, nodding. Danath returned the nod, and they went their separate ways.

Brunwal and Beytran's other lieutenants took their forces with Danath to rally in Thelsamar, while Beytran strode through the great halls of Ironforge to meet with his future allies. As he arrived at the great gate into the throne room, he heard the distinct sound of three Dwarven voices arguing. One of them he knew quite well as Muradin Bronzebeard. A burly Dwarf guard looked up at Beytran.

"Oi, yer a tall lad ain'tcha?" He remarked. "The Council is in tha middle a' 'deliberations' an'll be out in a minute." He added, looking forward again. Beytran sighed and leaned against the wall to wait. He knew it would be a while.

The door finally hauled open about fifteen minutes later, and the Lord General was ushered in. The chamber echoed as it closed behind Beytran as he walked in toward the three thrones of the Council. He arrived and offered a bow. The hall was not exactly as he remembered it so many years ago when he arrived to ask Magni for sanctuary as he fled Lordaeron. It was brighter then, he thought, before taking note of the situation. A stout Dwarf in black armor had just set his hammers down and walked down the central aisle from the thrones.

"Well if it isn't tha Ghost a' Lordaeron himself come to grace our halls." The Dwarf cackled, embracing Beytran in a hug, which was returned. "Good ta see ya again, Baast."

"You as well, Muradin. My condolences about your brother, truly. I would have given them earlier, but I have been exceedingly busy these past years." Beytran said with a sigh, giving the man a firm pat on the back. Muradin nodded, and ushered Beytran forth.

"Aye, aye. There'll be time to talk personally later, though. Yer messenger said ye came with a proposal, Baast. We shall listen." The Dwarf said, extending his hands to either side, directing Beytran's attention to Moira Thaurissan, who was perpetually scowling at him, and Falstad Wildhammer, who looked on with eager curiosity, having only heard of Beytran's accomplishments in the past. "The Council recognizes Lord General Beytran Baast as regent of the kingdom of Lordaeron." Muradin said, now resting his eyes, too, on the Human.

"Thank you. I apologize for arranging this on such short notice, but I have been gone from the world a very long time, and have much to do. I shall be brief, for you have no doubt already heard of my mission from my messenger. I believe that it is in the best interest of the Dwarven peoples to lend their aid to our struggle to free the Northern kingdoms, and in doing so gain them as allies for the future, as they were so closely in the past." Beytran said, crossing his hands behind his back to await a response.

"And what would you have us do? Our armies are nearly all spent dealing with the Alliance's wars, and our own strife with renegade Dark Irons and remnant Twilights, and all manner of hostile things." The Queen-Regent of the Dark Irons spoke coldly, gently stroking her cooing baby boy at her side.

"I am aware of the struggles you face, Lady Thaurissan, for we all have troubles nowadays. I do not ask that you lend me soldiers, only supplies. Of all the Alliance, Khaz Modan's lands are the most intact and stable by far, and you surely have food, water, and other things to spare." Beytran replied, then added. "I am not asking for much, and once Stromgarde is retaken I will require even less. I would also request that any of your people who would volunteer to join me be allowed to do so."

Muradin moved to speak, but was interrupted by Moira. "And what would our gains be in this venture? You ask us to trust you blindly. We have seen men like you come and go before, always failing to reverse the damages done to you. I do not see the merit." She said. Muradin furrowed his brow.

"Moira, this man is one of the greatest tacticians that yet lives. He alone has mustered an army of nearly two thousand men to his cause, and he does not even pay them to do so. If anyone has the willpower and skill to retake Lordaeron, it's Beytran Baast. Not to mention, we owe him a bit of a debt for what he has done in past wars of this land. Falstad, you are silent. What say you on this matter?" Muradin looked to the Wildhammer Dwarf who had been listening.

"I say we help the man. I go so far as ta say, the Wildhammer Clan remembers its old allies in the North, an' we shall help ya as much as we can." The gruff man said, a smile forming under his beard. Moira scowled, but Muradin too smiled and nodded.

"The Bronzebeards shall help as well, even if the whole kingdom does not?" He said, now looking to Moira.

"Oh very well! You'd do well to remember those who are helping you, Baast." Moira yelled, looking down at her son, before back to Beytran. The Lord General offered a gracious bow.

"But of course." He said.

"Then it is decided. The Council of Three Hammers has spoken. You shall have your aid." Muradin said.

"Thank you lords and lady. If you will excuse me, I have a tight schedule to keep. My army marches alongside Danath Trollbane's to Stromgarde at first light tomorrow. I hope you visit us in a month to see what gains your investment has already made." Beytran said, smiling as he bowed once more, and was gone.

"I look forward ta fightin' alongside that man." Falstad said.

"He's not the greatest fighter, Falstad, trust me. The true miracles that man works are what he can do with his mind. Can a few thousand men retake Lordaeron? Under Beytran Baast, they probably could." Muradin ended off, as Moira rolled her eyes and Falstad chuckled.


	4. Ch 3: Highland Games

As the column crossed over the Thandol Span, it was early morning two days after Beytran had won the allegiance of the Dwarves. They were set back significantly by a bog creature attack in the Wetlands, but they had made it with little casualties, which was good. Every bit of their number and their strength would be needed for the task ahead, and everyone knew it. Still, excitement was in the air.

The dry, oppressive winds of the highlands hit them like a warhammer would hit a wall of stone. All the irritation, none of the damage. Many of the men were taken by surprise and spent the first few minutes coughing the dust out of their lungs. The Dwarves, luckily, were shielded from the worst of it by their beards. As they headed further on they were met by a stunning vista. A vast expanse of grassy plains and stony hills, small whirlwinds, and the occasional raptor. They had entered the once proud lands of Stromgarde, and they had entered with a mission.

"How can anyone live in a place like this?" Asylillia pondered, pulling her mask tight over her mouth to protect it from the dust. Danath furrowed his brows.

"You've got to be tough to live in this place, Elf, and that's what the people of Strom are. Tough. Am I right!?" He looked back from his horse to his men, who all cheered enthusiastically.

"Indeed. I simply hope you and your men can continue to live up to your legacy as you did in the past. Our numbers are still limited, and our foes are many." Beytran remarked as they continued forward along the road.

"Speaking of foes, I assume you have a plan in mind, Baast?" Danath asked, looking to the man.

"I do. Our first move should naturally be to get to Refuge Point and turn it into a much more sizeable camp. Afterwords we need to deal with the Horde. They are our chief competition here, although you might not think so."

"Sounds reasonable. Perhaps while we do that we send out messengers to the Hinterlands to ask for some of the help your Wildhammer friends said they'd give. Air power would be a great boon to an attack on Stromgarde." Danath said.

"Asylillia and I can go with the messengers. There are some Elves in the Hinterlands that I'm sure would offer help." Alaram added, pulling his horse forward. Beytran gave a nod of approval. The rest of the trip seemed to go by fast. Fast, that is, until the ambush.

Upon a sudden, a massive group of black-leather wearing Rogues with orange bandanas on appeared from all sides of the road. From hills, bushes, even the wind itself. The soldiers were taken completely by surprise, and panicked.

"Syndicate dogs!" Danath shouted, pulling his sword and marshalling his forces.

"Let this mark the beginning of a new era, brothers and sisters! For the Alliance! For Lordaeron!" Beytran bellowed, pulling his own blade and galloping forth into the Syndicate lines, beheading one and cutting several more down to size. Despite the good start, the ambushers quickly lost their momentum as the soldiers gathered their wits, and the heroes entered the battle.

Brunwal leapt from his horse almost instantly, and had his hammer drawn just as fast. Arcs of light covered his warhammer, followed by screams of pain as it struck the Syndicate men. Alaram channeled a scorching burst of fire upon a small hill, which his sister quickly leapt upon and used as a position to rain down her arrows upon the unsuspecting rogues. Father Bandon, well, Father Bandon watched. The occasional brigand attempted to go for him, only to find themselves unconscious following a thwack on the head by a book.

The battle wore on, and in from the hills came even more Syndicate, these ones armed for battle, not ambush. All manner of wicked axes, spears, and crossbows were gripped in their hands, and some of them had shields, often emblazoned with the symbol of Stromgarde. Danath flew into a fury at the sight and waded into the thick of battle, his sword and shield watering the grasses of the Highlands with blood. Beytran and Brunwal were fighting back to back, surrounded almost entirely by the fiends.

"Just like old times, eh, Beytran?" Brunwal jeered, striking a man off a horse in one smooth blow, and then delivering a fatal strike to his head.

"Aye, but we were younger then!" Beytran replied, kicking a foe in the stomach before beheading him with his longsword.

"Haha! Speak for yourself, old man! This Paladin's still young!" Brunwal bellowed, continuing the fight with a roar. Meanwhile, with the Elves...

"How many do you have, brother?" Asylillia yelled, delivering yet another arrow into the skull of a charging bandit. Alaram was a few yards away flinging fireballs and breaking hearts.

"Twenty four!" He responded, frying a man.

"Ha! Twenty six!" Asylillia laughed, grinning with pride.

"Oh? We'll see about that!" Alaram shouted, slamming his staff into the ground and causing the ground underneath a half dozen charging cavalry to burst into flame, killing them all. "Thirty!" He smirked.

"You cheating Mage!" Asylillia shrieked, and they both kept on battling.

The skirmish continued for half an hour more, until at last the final Syndicate man was put to the ground. All in all the Syndicate's forces which numbered about four hundred were almost completely obliterated, and the combined Lordaeron/Stromgarde forces sustained losses of around two hundred. The giant buzzards of the Highlands were already circling overhead, and the raptors had begun to set in by the time the chaos was brought in to rein.

The rest of the journey, although short, was made far worse by the injuries sustained in battle, and the wounded had to be carried. Beytran had a perpetual scowl, and an odd look on his face throughout the rest of the ride.

"Brunwal. What's wrong with him?" Danath asked, looking to the battered Paladin. Brunwal sighed.

"That's two of Beytran's four faces. Upset, and thinking." Brunwal answered.

"Ahh." Danath nodded, then furrowed his brows. "What're the other two?" He asked.

"Pleased and the face when he's fucking, or was recently fucking." Brunwal grinned, and let out a boisterous laugh matched only by Trollbane's own. Oloric put his face in his palm behind the two, shaking his head.

The merriment in the camp at Refuge Point was grand. Family members who hadn't seen each other for decades finally reunited, strong Dwarven ale was flowing, the Elves were singing, and all was well. The defenders of Stromgarde were overjoyed that their hero had returned to take back their homeland. Beytran sat mostly alone, though, and watched. He was happy for the others, of course, and his own men who got a chance to relax, but deep in his mind were the stirrings of his new plan. Time was of the essence, and the battle for the Arathi Highlands wasn't far off.

Out of Beytran's field of view, or indeed his attention span, was the Elven Ranger Asylillia sitting on a stool in her skimpiest of gear, her tattoos and war paint visible like much else of her skin. She was staring right at him. Alaram wandered over, wineskin in hand, and sat next to her.

"For a huntress of the wilds, sister, you have proven remarkably inept at the hunting of men." He smirked, taking a swig from the drink.

"He's like no other man. I wish he would just notice me. I've tried and tried, but still, nothing. You don't think...?" Asy sighed, but then looked to her brother as she entertained the thought.

Alaram spit his wine out. "Light, no! Him? Noooo, certainly not. Sister, listen to me. Lord Baast is a man of great destiny, and nothing about him is ordinary. His is a love for grand stratagems succeeding and great lands restored, and history, and all that nonsense you read in the stories. But, he is still at his heart a man. A lonely man. And you are a woman. A lovely woman, who any man would give their life to have. Go get him." Alaram said, before shoving Asylillia forward.

She stumbled and tripped, landing chest first onto the dirt right in front of Beytran, whose gaze was already lowered. He stared directly at the Elf, who quickly shot up and dusted herself off, clearing her throat.

"May I help you, Asy? Enjoying the festivities?" Beytran asked, looking her over and not being able to help chuckling slightly at her trip.

"Yes you may, Lord Baast. I have mulled it over in my head for a long time, and, erm... We've been at many camp parties such as this and been through many things together. I think it's about time that we... danced." She squeaked at the end, sheepishly avoiding what she originally intended to say.

"I... see. Well, when you put it like that, how can I possibly refuse? Come, I hear a good song coming on the fiddle!" Beytran said, shrugging to himself as he leapt up and took Asylillia by the hand, leading her to the center of the camp for a night of dancing none would soon forget.

The morning came and it was perfect. A cool, moist breeze blew in from the sea cliffs and down into Refuge Point, helping to refresh the exhausted soldiers. The previous night's party had many suffering from hangovers and fatigue from a long night with their lovers. Beytran awoke behind a table of kegs, Asylillia sprawled overtop him. He remembered they had attempted a dance maneuver where he lifted her into the air and they both came crashing down. He gently removed her and got up.

"Oloric. Oloric you damned heathen, wake up, and get the others up!" He growled, kicking the Priest in the side -not- covered by an empty keg. The Priest nodded and slowly hauled himself up, meandering along to get the other officers awake as well.

An hour later, it was business as usual. The camp was alive with sounds of war; Men shouting, swords clanging, arrows hitting targets, blacksmiths hammering, and more. In the command tent sat the first of what would be many Councils of the North. Beytran, Brunwal, Alaram and Asylillia, Oloric, Danath, Amadi (Head of the Refuge Point troops), and a few others were present. Before they began another face entered. A stout fiery-orange haired Dwarf in full plate emblazoned with the heraldry of Ironforge was present.

"Captain Stonepike at yer service, General Baast." The Dwarf announced, saluting. "Commander a' Stone Company in tha Ironforge military. Me and me men are here under orders from Muradin 'imself." He finished with a curt nod. The other men of the council looked on, still slightly drunk and tired. Beytran merely smiled.

"And I accept your service, Captain. Tell me, how many men do you bring?" The Lord General inquired, making a mental note of the Dwarf's answer.

"A hundred n' twenty good men, sir. Eighty warriors n' forty riflemen by my count." The Captain said, before squinting briefly as he double checked his math, eventually nodding again. "Aye, right."

"If he can count." Asylillia whispered to Alaram, both snickering slightly. Oloric silenced them with a glance and then turned his attention back to the Dwarf.

"Splendid. Your help will be much appreciated. If you would have a seat, Captain, we were about to discuss the battle plans for today." Beytran said, scooting over so there would be a bit more room. The Dwarven captain headed to the empty seat and placed himself.

"So, General Baast, you said our first move will be against the Horde? Amadi here tells us they have one major base in the lands. If we were to remove it, all that would remain are the "Forsaken" at the walls." Danath said, leaning forward to the table and marking the positions on the map for all to see.

"Yes, that's right. The Orcs and Trolls at Hammerfall to the northeast are a major threat. The Forsaken to the east are led by our former leader, Galen Trollbane, Lord Danath's cousin." Commander Amadi stated plainly, shifting her gaze uneasily to Danath, who was visibly angered at being reminded of his cousin's fate.

"Ah, yes, Hammerfall. I remember the event that gave the place it's name. A decently fortified camp as I recall, but not impregnable. Unfortunately, we cannot use our brains to defeat them. The terrain around it is unfavorable. We'd have to charge it." Beytran said, with Danath and the others nodding in agreement.

"Very well, it is decided. We shall attack at night, when we can move under cover of darkness and avoid being spotted by the watchtowers. That is all for today, though. Go to your men, people, and rally them. We'll need all our strength for the attack. Dismissed." Beytran nodded, slumping back into his chair as they left.

"So it begins."


	5. Chapter 4: Falling Hammers

"Do you think they suspect anything?" Danath asked, chewing a hunk of mutton as he glanced at Beytran. They were on a large hill overlooking the Horde encampment of Hammerfall in the middle of the night. Their army was camped around them, although much lower, waiting. No torches, no shining enchantments, nothing that could give them away. Only steel, and fury.

"I don't know. They've had this camp here for many years and I doubt they've ever tasted real Alliance resistance. They could either be very prepared, or completely unprepared. We shall see." Beytran said, resting his hand on the hilt of his blade as he headed down the hill. "Alright, I'm going to go over the plan once more, quickly." Beytran said, looking to his officers.

"Asylillia, you and Alaram shall take the riflemen, mages, and archers to the cliff face on the eastern side of Hammerfall to take positions for volleying while we siege their gates. Brunwal, you'll take the shock troops around the rear and break through the palisade to take their command center. Danath, Stonepike, the rest of you lot are with me on the main gate. I hope you tempered your shields."

The Lord General's command met nothing but agreement, to which he nodded. The men began to quickly move on command. Time was on the essence, the scouts had reported the guards changing in the towers, and they would be distracted. From behind the hills in front of Hammerfall charged the main force: Heavily plated men and women, of Lordaeron, Stromgarde, Quel'thalas, and Khaz Modan shouting their battle cries with swords and spears and shields waving. The reclamation of Stromgarde had begun.

It did not take long for the Horde to realize what was happening, and the warning bells echoed from the camp. Trolls, Orcs, and even a few Undead shouted in surprise as they awoke from their sleep, readying for battle. By the time the Alliance forces hit the gate, only a few of the fastest Orcs had rushed out to meet them. Too few. Arrows and throwing axes landed on the bulk of the main force, but caused little damage to the heavily armored men of the north.

The Horde had begun to mass inside the camp as Beytran led the men through the gate, quite literally pulling down the watchtowers. Danath looked to the cliffs, spotting the familiar figure of the elven ranger Asylillia. "Archers! Volley!" He bellowed, pointing his blade forward.

"Fire!" Asylillia shouted, notching an arrow and firing it down into the camp, followed by gunfire and arrows and spells doing the same. They slammed into the main Horde force as the Alliance forces entered full-out battle in the camp. As well as the battle had been going up until that time, on the inside it was still quite brutal. Orcs and Trolls are dangerous foes when backed into corners, and many of them were veterans of the first and second wars. No pups.

The heaviest losses Alliance-side belonged to the volunteers from Stormwind. Guards sick of their duties and young peasants who remembered hearing of their fathers deaths to the Undead and Orcs in the far-away north that decided to avenge them personally had joined in large amounts, but had unfortunately not received anywhere near the training that Beytran's other men had. On the bright side, their deaths gave the experienced troops time to inflict their own damage. Chief among those decimating the Horde forces were Danath Trollbane and his men.

"Get your asses out of my homeland, green skin bastards!" The aged Trollbane shouted, bashing a large Orcish warrior with his shield before slicing his throat open with his longsword. Blood splattered his golden armor as well as that of his men as they pushed forward. The sounds of great hammers striking wood was heard on the other side of the battle. Sir Brunwal and his knights were breaking the palisade down with their weapons and strength alone.

"Put your backs into it, lads! First man in gets the camp's best ale!" Brunwal declared before slamming his massive warhammer into the wooden wall, splintering a beam. Flames had begun to spring up around the camp as fiery arrows and spells rained from the sky, and the Horde forces were dwindling. At the main building's bell tower stood a large elderly orc wielding a waraxe encouraging his men to fight to the last. Asylillia took it upon herself to fire an arrow through the Orc's leg, causing him to collapse and fall down the building, landing with a thud on the hard ground.

"Cease the attack! Stop! Now!" Beytran's voice echoed through the crowd as the last of the Orcs and Trolls had begun to surrender. Many of the men nearby immediately stopped, spreading the Lord's command around to the rest of the men. Brunwal and his knights had fought through the rear and taken the command center. Danath brushed some blood from his beard and stormed to Beytran.

"What the hell do you mean stop? We've won!" Danath growled, before blinking, seeing Beytran sitting on the ground leaning against a box. He had bloody Forsaken dagger laying beside his leg, which was damaged.

"Exactly, Danath. We've won. No need to kill every last one of them." The Lord General gasped from the pain as he shifted in his seat, spitting some blood out. The remaining Orcs had begun to be rounded up. One of them, a loudmouth, demanded to see the Alliance commander. Beytran hoisted himself up, using a broken spear as a crutch as he looked at the Orc was a young warrior, but by his armor and weapons he was a relatively high ranked and honored one. After a length of time, he spoke.

"What is your name, human?" The Orc asked, looking Beytran in the eyes directly, a mix of rage and admiration in them.

"I am Lord General Beytran Baast of Lordaeron. Who are you, Orc?" Beytran asked in return.

"I am Rasirael, the Aledragon! Champion of the Horde. On behalf of the rest of us here, I concede to you Beytran Baast, and thank you for our lives." The warrior said.

"Think nothing of it. You will be released into the Highlands to return to your people elsewhere, if you swear by your honor you will say nothing of us to the Forsaken." Beytran said, limping over to nod at Danath and the approaching Brunwal.

"Very well. I swear!" The Orc said, before being quickly ushered back to the rest of his people. He looked through the crowd long and hard at the Lord General, committing his name and his figure to memory.

By lunchtime of the next day, the camp had been repaired somewhat. The Orcs had been released as promised, with a handful of weapons to protect them from beasts. Contentment was in the hearts of all. All but Beytran.

"I'm sure it will mend, my Lord. You are strong." Father Bandon said, wrapping the Baast's leg in bandages tightly, concerned. Danath Trollbane and Asylillia looked on with a bit more concern, but hopeful faces.

Beytran let out a hacking cough and shook his head. "Nay, it won't. I'll have that limp for the rest of my days. I'm too old to heal an injury like that, Oloric, but I'm not worried. I've never been the greatest soldier, so I'll just fight from the rear now." The General said, coughing again.

"Damn Forsaken. Dishonorable cur sneaking up on you like that, all to take out your leg." Danath said, but then moved to lay a hand on the man's shoulder. "Thank you for all that you are doing, Beytran. Thanks to you I now have a piece of my homeland back." He nodded, moving to head out the door with Oloric.

"Danath." Beytran said, causing the man to stop. "We won't stop until all of Stromgarde is yours again." He finished, nodding to Trollbane who exited. Asylillia was the last one in the room and closed the door, looking to Beytran with concern plain on her graceful elven face.

"Your ears lower like a cat's when you are concerned, Asylillia. Best speak your mind now." Beytran said, grabbing a drink of water and sipping it.

Asylillia shook her head and walked over, gently laying herself on top of Beytran and straddling him, holding her body close to his. "Are you sure you'll be alright, milord?" She asked, looking up to him.

Beytran blinked in some surprise but exhaled deeply and laid a hand on her head, stroking her hair gently. "I'll be fine, Asy. I promise."

Asylillia reddened visibly as he for the first time said her nickname. Nobody but Alaram used it. She simply tightened her embrace of him and didn't let go for hours. Outside the command center, work was underway to remake the camp into the Alliance's new primary stronghold in Arathi. Each faction unfurled their banners and claimed a building for their own, with the main one belonging to the Alliance and Lordaeron.

As news spread of the victory, new forces trickled in from the South. Varian Wrynn finally saw the gravity of the situation and sent a few groups of men to help every few days, as well as many volunteers who hadn't yet heard of Trollbane, their lord's, return. More Dwarves too, came, including many from the Hinterlands and Twilight Highlands just as Falstad Wildhammer promised they would.

At the end of the week, Beytran was back to his old self, albeit infinitely more awesome due to his new cane (whose head was that of a raven) and limp. The camp had been greatly expanded to accommodate new forces, the overall force numbering about 3,500 at this point.

Excitement spread around the camp as Danath Trollbane called together his allies for another council, but this time for dealings other than war. As Beytran was escorted into the war room slowly, he was greeted by a glorious sight. All his friends and comrades dressed in their ceremonial best, including Trollbane, who was even wearing his crown.

"Hail, Lord Baast. Come in, come in. I have a seat of honor just for you." Danath said, gesturing to the small throne, the only chair at the table, to which Beytran turned and went to sit.

"What is all this, Danath? Surely you don't mean to assassinate me so soon?" The Lord General chuckled, looking from face to face.

"Politics, my friend. I want you to know how truly grateful I am for your help so far, and for the help you still provide. I, Danath Trollbane," the man began, holding up a cup of wine. "Hereby pledge my allegiance, and that of Stromgarde, to the Baast bloodline and the kingdom of Lordaeron. Into darkness we shall rush to save you, in the light we shall raise cups together to celebrate our victories, and in war we shall always stand beside you. May the peoples of the world that call themselves our enemies look upon us and tremble, as an Alliance of the North is born! Hear, hear!" Danath bellowed to a chorus of others hears. It was the first of a few such new oaths, which Beytran accepted with gratitude.

At the end of the celebration Danath found Beytran sitting on the side of a hill beside Hammerfall. "So. There's only one thing left to do after we clear the rest of the Horde out of the farms. Stromgarde."

"Aye, Danath, that is so. Are you having reservations?" Beytran asked, glancing aside.

"No, of course not! I'm just curious, now that I've made my oaths, what exactly you want from me after Stromgarde is reclaimed." Danath said.

"Don't worry my friend, I won't ask anything of you that you cannot easily do. I do not ask that you send men with me, all I ask is you keep them here to protect your kingdom. Keep the supplies flowing North and the news flowing South, and prepare yourself for war in the distant future." Beytran said, looking into the distance.

"Is that all?" Danath replied.

"Aye, that is all. I won't need an army as much as I will wit in Lordaeron. Our foes will not be foes, but rather neutral people." Beytran spoke.

"Tirion Fordring, I assume you mean." Danath said, sighing.

"Yes, Tirion Fordring. If all goes well he will simply join with me and release all of his already-cleansed lands over to us to rebuild, but I highly doubt that will be the case. I don't want to war with him, but it may come to it." Beytran sighed. Danath clasped his shoulder with a plated hand.

"Don't worry about it, Beytran. You're the most charismatic man I've ever met. I bet the Argents will all drop their tabards and join you the moment you mention it. Now, let's talk about saving -my- homeland, shall we?" Danath grinned, now looking into the distance as well, where the great fortress city of Stromgarde sat by the sea.


	6. Ch 5: The Cradle of Humanity

"My lady, the last of the Kor'kron have been dealt with as you instructed." The ethereal voice of Sylvanas' handmaiden said softly, not wanting to startle her mistress from her position hunched over a map in her chambers deep within the Undercity. Sylvanas blinked out of her trance and rolled the map up, tossing it to the side. After Garrosh was deposed, many of his "guards" that remained in the Undercity became rather upset, and the Dark Lady decided she should have them killed so they wouldn't have to live with the sorrow.

"Very good," the Banshee Queen said as she slung her bow over her shoulder and began walking, her ghostly attendant following alongside her. "And what of Bragor?" Sylvanas asked, nodding to the two Dreadguards who were guarding her quarters as she exited them.

"The captain has been captured as you instructed, Dark Lady. It was not an easy task, but it was done. He has been delivered to the Apothecarium and prepared for your arrival." The banshee servant replied, floating alongside her queen casually. Sylvanas had something special planned for the Kor'kron captain, Bragor Bloodfist. He was to be the first in a new type of Forsaken soldier. Quite an honor, she thought, as she strode into the now hyperactive Apothecarium, where all manner of vile experiments were going on now that they were no longer under supervision.

"My Queen." The Undead Rogue, Aleric Hawkins, said as he bowed to Sylvanas, joining her as she entered the laboratory.

"Good evening, Hawkins. Have you acquired the book I requested?" Sylvanas asked, looking at the Deathstalker curiously.

Aleric offered a sinister smirk and pulled out a large ornate tome emblazoned with skulls, handing it to Sylvanas. "Direct from the abandoned halls of Scholomance as you said it would be, my lady. It was guarded by a few Scourge remnants of course, but I handled them." The Deathstalker said, nodding as he resumed walking.

"Very good. This book shall be the foundation from which the Forsaken empire shall be built, and it will begin with our dear friend," Sylvanas said, now walking over to a large torturer's rack, where a half-naked Orc was chained and being examined by some Apothecaries. "Captain Bloodfist."

The Orc glanced back and forth frantically before finally gazing at Sylvanas, blind rage and panic plain to see. "Sylvanas! Release me at once! The Warchie-"

"Your Warchief is dead, Bragor. Vol'jin now rules the Horde and has far more pressing matters than dealing with a detachment of missing Garrosh loyalists in the Undercity." Sylvanas said, grinning down to the Orc who now looked crestfallen, and looked away from her. "If I was you, I'd be more concerned with what's going to happen to you right now."

"What... What are you going to do to me?" Bragor suddenly looked panicked again and turned his gaze back to the Banshee Queen, and then the large book she held close to her breast. "What is that?"

"This, dear captain, is the most comprehensive text on Necromancy ever written by mortal hands. The former grandmaster of Scholomance, Gandling, wrote it alongside his master Kel'thuzad. Normally I would have cause to burn this book, but now I see the value it can pose." Sylvanas said, looking thoughtfully at the cover of the dark tome. Aleric Hawkins stood at her side, listening, just as the few Apothecaries around her did. A dark robed and hooded Forsaken also approached, holding a gnarled staff of ashwood. From behind his cowl burned fel green eyes: A Warlock.

"You can't possibly intend..." Bragor stammered out, looking between all those gathered. A few chuckled, most notably the Warlock, whose laugh echoed out like the footsteps of doom.

"Oh I do intend, Captain. You should feel proud. If this works, you will be the first of a new breed of Forsaken. Now then, let's see about preparing this ritual, hm?" Sylvanas asked, looking to her Warlock, who nodded. Bragor struggled against his chains to no avail, and could not help but look on in terror during the last moments of his life.

"YYYEEEAGGGGHHH!" The Ogre Magi bellowed as an arc of lightning left his fingertips, directed toward Danath Trollbane. The Arathorian man lunged forward to the Ogre's legs, dodging the bolt and giving him a position to strike the savage down, which he proceeded to do with his blade. The great blue oaf collapsed in a puff of dust on the streets of Stromgarde. Battle raged all initial attack on the city was very effective, but now Beytran's forces were split all around the city. Lord Falconrest, it seemed, had allied himself with the Boulderfist Ogres in Stromgarde, and were putting up a united defense. Rogue magi worked with Ogre magi to put up a rather powerful shield around the primary keep at the center of the city, and the casters would need to be put down before any advances were made.

Danath and his men made short work of the Ogres on the west side of the city, and the losses they sustained were mitigated by the reinforcements they gained from the defenders that were already in the city. The aged Trollbane looked around him. Everywhere there was carnage, but through it all was the ruin of a great city. A great city that would soon be renewed. All great kingdoms and empires were forged through blood, after all. On the other side of the city Brunwal was leading the bulk of Beytran's forces against the Syndicate, whose Warlocks and Mages were holding up their side of the shield.

"Watch out for ambushes, men! These bastards will hope out from behind every spot they can find!" The Paladin shouted, his warhammer connecting with the head of a charging assassin, taking it clear off. Their forces hadn't taken severe losses, but instead damage. The Syndicate knew they would lose, and were so determined to cause as much suffering as possible to their foes. Ambushes, bombs, knives, and traps were all common. Circling overhead were several Wildhammer Gryphon Riders, peppering the large magic shield with their stormhammers to weaken it, and the spellcasters holding it up. A few others were raining death onto the enemies below, and a few more others had leapt into the ground combat themselves, fighting alongside their Bronzebeard cousins.

Asylillia's lithe body sprang up a ruined tavern and onto the roof, tripping and quickly killing an archer at the top and stealing his arrows, which she then used to fire at the other roof and wall-mounted Syndicate snipers. Unbeknownst to her, though, a daring rogue wielding two wicked daggers was leaping from rooftop to rooftop, gunning directly for her. Within seconds of landing on her building, the man was poised to sink his blades into her stomach. Within a moment of preparing his strike, he received a strike of his own. A large spear, a pike, made of stone had impaled him. He collapsed backward with a thud.

Asylillia turned with surprise to see her would-be attacker slain, and then perked her ears at a sharp whistle from below. Captain Stonepike was cackling there behind his blood-stained beard.

"Ah think that means ya owe me an ale, lass!" The Captain said, gripping an oncoming mace and redirecting it to strike a nearby thug, then taking the knife from his attacker's boot and stabbing him through the stomach with it. The Elven Ranger looked on, obviously impressed. She knelt down and ripped the spear from the dead Syndicate assassin's body, tossing it down.

"I think you'll need this, Captain. Make sure you stay alive and maybe I'll get you that drink." Asylillia said, returning to firing her arrows down upon the crowd below. Her thoughts were still partially on Beytran, though, who now sat with a few other officers and Oloric at the command tent just outside the city. Hopefully the Syndicate wouldn't send anyone after him.

At the command tent, Beytran hastily directed various oncoming troops into the city, and carefully listened to each new report of the battle. Oloric hobbled over to him after finishing his restoration of a wounded soldier.

"Well, what's the news, milord?" The Priest asked, wiping his hands of the blood. Beytran dismissed the most recent scout and looked toward the burning city from which all sounds of violence came. "Will we win?"

"We were always going to win, Oloric. I had no doubt. My concerns now are the losses we might sustain. The Syndicate are treacherous bastards, and Ogres are no easy foe either. I only hope Brunwal and Danath are up to the challenge." Beytran said, scowling. "I should be there with them."

"Now now, don't be like that, Beytran. We all know you'd be fighting alongside them if you could, but those days are past you. Your duties now are to make sure everyone is doing what they're supposed to. The world won't remember Beytran Baast who died to a Syndicate thug in the reclamation of Stromgarde as much as they will Beytran Baast, first king of a reclaimed Lordaeron, who against all odds led a small band of loyal followers to a series of great victories, including Stromgarde." Oloric said, nodding with confidence.

Beytran sighed, but nodded as well ."You're right. Of course you're right, I've learned to stop questioning you Priests." The Lord General responded with a smirk. After a few silent moments, another scout came forth, faster than the others.

"Lord Baast! The shield around the keep has fallen, and the primary attack is commencing!" The man reported, gasping for air. Beytran nodded and grabbed his cane, hauling himself upward and clasping the man on the shoulders. The other officers got up as well and turned to Beytran.

"Very good! Well, gentlemen, I believe it's time we head in. I like to see the look on my opponent's face when he is defeated!" Beytran said, leading his small company into the city. The sight was not entirely inspiring to behold. Thousands of bodies lay strewn about the battered city of stone. Most of them belonged to the Syndicate, it was true, but for every few dead brigands was a dead Lordaeronian, or Dwarf, or Arathorian, or Elf, and those were the ones that mattered. As the men walked toward the center of the city, they took in as much as they could from the surrounding area.

"What do you think, Lord Baast? A year?" One of the lieutenants asked, looking to Beytran for a response. The Lord General shrugged.

"We'll see. If Danath and his men are as good at repairing their city as they are at destroying it, it could be less time than that. Supplies are a key factor too, although I'm sure the Dwarves will have plenty of stone to pledge after they learn of our victory." Beytran said as they came upon the large keep of Stromgarde, where his men had now surrounded. They advanced up the hill into the main square, following the sounds of wood hitting metal to the scene where his men were battering the keep's gate with a small ram.

"Glad to see you're finally off your haunches." Brunwal said, cleaning his hammer while he sat on one of the ramparts of the keep. "I was beginning to think you wanted us to have all the glory." He grinned.

"No, of course not. I'm the only one allowed to have glory here." Beytran chuckled, clasping the battered Danath Trollbane on the shoulder. He had taken a few hits, everyone had, but ultimately looked fine. "Well, Danath. How does it feel to know that in under an hour you will have your kingdom back?"

"Feels damn good, Baast. Damn good." Trollbane said huskily, balancing the weight of his sword in his hand as he prepared to charge into the keep as soon as the gate went down.

"Good." Beytran said, smiling. He then turned his attention to the sound of a crack, the keep's gate beginning to give way. Brunwal got up and stood alongside Beytran. Asylillia and her brother came up also, flanked by the rest of the elite soldiers.

"Rush in, take the command center. Don't let anyone out unless escorted by one of our men, I don't want Falconrest escaping." Danath commanded right as the gate went down. He charged forth into the dusty keep. Little resistance was met, as many of the guards in the keep already surrendered. The few who did fight were easily overcome, mostly by Danath himself. The rooms of the keep were systematically checked and manned, until finally they came to the command center. Beytran laid a hand on Danath, nodding as they advanced in. Danath took the hint, and breathed heavily, calming himself.

They came upon the sight of Lord Falconrest sitting at the main table, eating a lavish meal with a dead bodyguard at his side, one of his blades resting in the man's back. He looked to his newcomers, face hidden behind his orange mask.

"Lord Falconrest. In the name of the Alliance you are hereby under arrest for your crimes of treason, murder, conspiracy, theft, and many other charges. As rightful heir to Stromgarde, I demand you hand over any keys and documents you have in your possession relating to the kingdom." Danath spoke, advancing up to the table, hand now resting on the hilt of his blade.

Falconrest looked down, and pulled forth a small box, sliding it across the table to Danath. "There's your crown, Trollbane. Good luck doing anything in this land. It's savage and unkempt, just like it's people. Even I admit I had difficulty here."

"Ruling a rugged kingdom like Stromgarde isn't something I'd expect scum like you to understand. You Alterac filth couldn't even live in your own land." Danath said, now having moved behind Falconrest.

Falconrest blinked, eyes filled with rage as he gripped a knife hidden under the table, twirling around to try and stab Danath. The old warrior moved quicker, though, and his plated hand wrapped around Falconrest's neck, lifting the man up off the ground.

"The punishment for your crimes is death." Danath said, breaking the man and tossing him aside. He then collapsed into the seat, looking beyond the table. Beytran smiled and walked forth, slowly taking the golden crown of Stromgarde from the small box. He moved and placed it on Danath's head, to the cheers of the crowd.

"May Stromgarde know prosperity and glory from this day forth, as a Trollbane once again sits in the halls of the cradle of humanity. Long live Stromgarde! Victory and honor for the Alliance!" Beytran bellowed, raising his fist.

"Long live Stromgarde! FOR THE ALLIANCE!" Came the return, bloody fists raising... the red fists of Stromgarde.


	7. Interlude: The Forsaken and the Damned

As the lifeless and smouldering corpse of the Forsaken Warlock Ratheras collapsed to the floor, Lady Sylvanas could feel only disappointment. The battered and obviously in-pain Captain Bragor lay on the table, covered in blood, burns, and cuts. The ritual had been a complete and utter failure, despite the Dark Mage's promises that it would. In the end, he was overcome by his own power and fell to the fel.

"Curses. You live to fight another day, Captain. Pray that I do not find a more competent servant to complete this spell any time soon." Sylvanas said, displeasure blatant across her features as she sped from the Apothecarium and back into her chambers, saying nothing. Aleric sighed deeply, and set off as well. He left to Hillsbrad to track down an old contact, one he hoped would be able to find his Lady a Mage of worth. Bragor Bloodfist coughed blood onto his fist as he lay, paralyzed still from the pain. Being almost converted into Undeath isn't exactly an enjoyable process.

Exactly twenty-four hours later, there came a knock upon the Dark Lady's stone wall/door. She was aroused from her rest, growling. "My good for nothing guards were supposed to turn anyone away." She said to herself, until a familiar voice sounded through the walls.

"My Lady! I've found someone you may wish to meet." It was Aleric Hawkins, her trusted Deathstalker Commander. She sighed and flipped the lever that opened up her room. Aleric stepped inside, offering a reverent bow. "My Lady. Might I present to you the Mage, Helcular." He said, bowing again and stepping aside. A red and black robed Forsaken, fairly well preserved, stepped forth. His wand radiated shadow in the darkness of the room.

Sylvanas eyed the man with some suspicion, swearing she had heard the name before. She was so suspicious she didn't realize the lack of clothing on her body. Even in Undeath the two Forsaken men were at least pleased at this turn of events, but of course, said nothing. She walked forward to eye the Mage closer.

"Dark Lady." The crimson cloth-wearing man said, bowing once more. "Allow me to fully introduce myself, as I fear my identity rests on the edge of your mind. I was once a prominent servant of the Scourge until I was freed of my life and my enslavement to the Lich King by some of your agents so that I might serve you. I am a practiced Necromancer... Schooled by Kel'thuzad himself." He said, smirking. "I hear you have need of my services."

Sylvanas listened to the man's introduction quietly, narrowing her eyes and looking directly at him. "I do indeed, but why should I trust you?" She asked, crossing her arms and giving Aleric a brief glance.

"Well, Lady Windrunner, you shouldn't," the Mage replied, before smirking and bowing once again. "But with all due respect, you would be a fool to turn me aside. I know what it is you seek, I know what it is you intend to do to get it, and I am one of the few people in this world possessed of the knowledge and skill to help your dream become a reality."

Sylvanas pondered this, turning and pacing gently as she thought to herself. At length, she turned. "Very well, Helcular. Find yourself a home here in the Undercity, and see to your preparations." Helcular nodded and left. "Aleric, stay. Close the door." She said, wandering to her mirror, one of the few items of vanity she chose to keep.

Aleric closed the door as commanded and looked at his lady, his bony hands clasped behind his back. "Is there something you require, Banshee Queen?" He asked, cautiously admiring the queen's body. So perfect, even in Undeath. If she were a mere human woman, Aleric would...

"You've served me faithfully for some time, Aleric. I've come to depend on your skills in both combat and information gathering. You keep the Deathstalkers in line and defeat every enemy I ask you to. You deserve this." Sylvanas said, gently brushing her almost ethereal hair with her hands.

"It is but my duty, my lady. Deserve what, might I ask?" He tilted his head, a slight crack audible as one of his vertebrae corrected it's position.

"It has been a long time since I have had a true companion in this world, Aleric. Since Varimathras left I have felt a longing... A man for my side." She looked at him out the corner of one eye, and turned, walking towards him with her hands on her hips. "Now let me show you what pleasures magic can bring..."

Helcular and his followers hastily set up shop in the Magic Quarter. Necromancers had come to aid the Forsaken.


End file.
